


Ophelia

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Begging, Brutal Murder, Confused Sam, Demon Dean Being an Asshole, Demon Dean Winchester, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Forced Prostitution, Hair-pulling, Intimacy, Intimidation, Loss of Virginity, Loud Sex, Making Love, Murder, Oral Sex, Peeping, Pole Dancing, Possession, Possessive Dean Winchester, Possessive Sex, Protective Castiel, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Is So Done, Scary Dean Winchester, Sexual Coercion, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vessels, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can lose every fucking thing.<br/>But not you.<br/>God, not you."</p><p>Demonic Dean Winchester finds solace and peace in a teenage girl named Ophelia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't set a chapter limit because I am unsure on how long this fic will be but I'm not planning on it being uber long.

Prepped and pretty, she likes the way he looks up at her for some reason - like she's more than a girl in scant lingerie doing a routine to. . .is that _Cherry Pie_?

Oh yeah, definitely Cherry Pie and he seems to know the song and appreciates it as well because he taps his foot as his hungry green eyes sweep over her - the swell of her ass around what Chet had called jean shorts but more like jean thong and then she sinks low, back pressed against the hard pole and her knees thrust out, hooded eyes taking him in as he eyes that dangerous apex.

All the while, he hums along to Jani Lane and masterful lyrics that Ophelia felt this desperate need to lip sync too.

Ophelia was a rarity in this particular club - Hattie's Club, if you want to get technical - in that she didn't mind stripping for someone that oggled her with such a deep, dangerous lust in his eyes. But the rest of him was casual, like he was just out eating dinner and not casually eye-fucking the stripper who was most likely underaged - she was.

She'd been there for nearly a year, subjected to intense abuse both mental and physical but she was just thankful she wasn't one of the girls that stayed in the back - the ones that got sold permanently or were just paid for by night. She danced, she batted her lashes and raked in tips, got to leave with Roy or Barney to go shopping or something so long as she gave them the cut.

Her definition of lucky.

As the song died, Ophelia let out a short sigh but still smiled through the curtain of dark hair that dipped over her shoulder. "Songs over, sweetie," she said in a false husky voice, just like Chelsea had taught her.

His eyes glittered dangerously and she felt a catch in her throat, but still snatched up the ten he had put in her shoe. "Aw come on," he reached out and she jerked her hand back; his jaw ticked but he smiled. "Fine, fine - thanks for the show sweetheart," he winked and slowly pushed up from his seat, coming up to just above her chest - how tall was he?

She hesitates and then looked over at Chet, who didn't appear cautious over this man. But he did jerk his chin at her when the man approached him, and Ophelia didn't hesitate then - she hurried off stage, heels clicking as she did so. She peeked back over her shoulder and saw Chet leading the man back to his 'office', which didn't bode well with Ophelia but she wasn't inclined to really be concerned - whatever happened in there was between them.

There's a short hallway to her 'bedroom', the walls painted black and the lights above her different colors with each outlet. She could hear the groan of old springs and the desperate moans of the girls seeking to get out from under men that grunted and groaned above them - behind them. Ophelia had yet to be forced to do that, she was luckily still a virgin but it was almost as if the men could smell that on her. Smell the purity they needed to taint, which made her sick to her stomach.

As Ophelia shut the door softly behind her, she sighed and toed off her heels; everything ached. She laid the heap of ones, ten and two twenties she would have to give up, into the purple bin she always did. She didn't even change, she just flopped onto the creaky mattress in the corner of the room and clicked on her fan to high; thankfully, it drowned out the bulk of the noises around her.

She doesn't cry anymore, but she has this overwhelming need to do so. She cried for nearly a month when she was first brought here, back of a van as the creeps usually did in movies. She had begged for release, she just wanted to get home; if she ever got out of this, she swore she would never tell her mother she was old enough to do anything ever again - let alone walk home. The weirdest thing was, she had yet to see anything about her on the news from Chet's office television. No mention of her disappearing, but she had heard there was a double murder in her neighborhood - that gave her a whole new sense of unease with Chet's threats.

Ophelia is jarred out of her thoughts when there is a heavy-handed rasp at the door and her heart thrums in her chest. She scrambled to her feet, adjusts the bed and checks her reflection, slides back into her heels and then, finally, opens the door.

There stands six-foot something of a man with a jawline for days and this smirk that has her stomach fluttering like it should with a highschool boyfriend, not a full grown man. Its him, the guy from the stage, the one that Chet had led back into his office. He's leaning against the doorframe with one arm, other arm shoving its hand into his pocket.

"Hey there sweet cheeks," he hums and steps into the room without asking - not like she really expected it, but she also didn't expect him. "Got you livin in shit don't they baby," he hums as he stands in the middle of the room, eyes rolling.

"I-I -" Ophelia swallows and crosses her arms tightly over her chest, standing just to the side of the door. "I'm sorry but you're not supposed to be back here."

He flashes her a menacing grin over his shoulder. "Oh but I am," he swaggers back towards her, slamming the door and delighting in the way she jumps when he presses her back against it. "See, I'm the lucky guy that gets to pluck your cherry," her blood runs cold. "Now, I would have preferred a different setting but whatever gets you screamin' . . .you wouldn't know if you're a screamer, would you sweetheart?"

His breath ghosts over the shell of her ear and Ophelia scrunches up her neck, knees nearly buckling. " P-Please," and here came the begging. "Please - I'm not ready for this! I can't, not like this sir please!"

He chuckles in her ear, the spicy musk of him making her head swim and her eyes cross. He's so damn big, completely dwarfing her bitty body and she can feel the heat of his eyes raking over her - maybe she should have changed into her night sweats, maybe it would have deterred him. Not what she was wearing, not this exposing piece showing every inch of skin, save for the important parts.

The parts he wanted to see, most definitely would see. . .because Chet had given her to this man.

She lets out this embarrassing, cringe worthy moan as he roughly cups her sex; its a possessive grip. Her thighs hunch outwards and then clamp together around his wrist, fingernails digging into the metal of the door with a normally blood curdling feel. Her eyes stared up at him, wide and fearful but he was just smirking down at her as his fingers stroked against her hot sex. She was shaking and her stomach was cramped but he was just. . .everywhere and the way he looked at her - she couldn't deny he was eternally attractive and that she had actually had some involuntarily filthy images of him when she was dancing but -

"Don't want it," he hummed and leaned into her throat, making her breath hitch as he inhaled her deeply, lips brushing over her ear. "You're on fucking fire, baby."

Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut tightly and tried desperately to deny the flare of heat that was beginning to settle in her belly at the working of his fingers back and forth. . .

If she fought back, he'd most likely hit her, or he'd just fuck her anyway. And if she upset him, Chet would surely have her head - she couldn't do anything. And even if she fought back. . .he was huge, he'd so easily over power her just like the men that had wrangled her. She could flop and flail, scream but that would effect no one here and she could even claw but it would still lead to one thing - he was taking her virginity.

"Please," she whimpered and shuttered. "Please - don't do this! I'm only sixteen I can't - just please don't rape me!"

And at that, he paused, confusing Ophelia enough to where her brow creased and she nearly felt herself relaxing against the door.

He cocked his head and his eyes flickered over her, like he was trying to figure out a rough math problem. His right eyebrow twitched and Ophelia met defeat as he captured her lips with his, giving her the experience of a first kiss. Her knees nearly buckled for some reason, her chest heaving up against his and involuntarily giving him wider access to the part she was trying to keep from him.

He inhaled deeply, loudly, and adjusted his stance a little, becoming thicker and surer with the stroke of his fingers. Ophelia whimpered as his middle finger brushed against the crease of her thigh and her pussy, easily curving and finding what he wanted. The growl that came from his chest was almost animalistic and Ophelia stiffened slightly, fear making her instincts kick and fight but. . .there was pleasure, somewhere in there.

And she felt dirty for it.

"So fucking tight," he mumbled against her throat and one arm wrapped around her waist. "Just what I needed," his voice was still low, but something seemed different.

Ophelia squeaked and her eyes flew open when he hoisted her up against him, finding his eyes on her and very much. . .black. When she blinked, his eyes were back to that bright green so she shook it off, focusing on the bed he was hauling her towards.

She didn't say anything, her throat felt clogged as he turned and dumped her onto the bed, her legs kicking out as she pressed herself into the corner of her bed, where the two walls met.

He chuckled deeply and his right knee dug into the bed, his hands reaching out and grabbing the sides of her shorts and underwear. It was an easy fight for him to win, even with her legs curled up to her chest. She gave a short cry of fear, trying to kick out at him but he smirked and caught her ankles, making her eyes go wide when he ducked his head and buried his face into the tender apex of her sex.

Ophelia tossed her head back and heaved her chest up, moaning loudly as his tongue darted out and stroked up between her folds.

She'd never had someone touch her down there, let alone do what he was doing and it felt heavenly. She rolled her hips up and hesitated, her jaw trembling as she buried her fingers in his hair. He growled and it sent strange tingles through her core, an even more odd sensation coming from her body when he began to ease a finger into her.

"Fuck," he growled as he began to languidly stroke the finger in and out of her, muscles reaching for it. "You're probably the tightest fuck I've ever had. . ."

Ophelia moaned again and then whimpered when his tongue found the tip of her clit and began to roll it in circles. There was mildly uncomfortable pressure as he added a second finger into her, making small scissoring motions.

The heat was coiling in her belly, tighter and tighter amongst wanton moans and the subtle buck of her hips up against his face, but she was limited backed against the wall. He seemed perfectly content to let her pet and tug at his hair, seeming to enjoy it as much as she did. She dared to look down at him, watching him pull back just enough for her to watch his fingers disappearing inside of her; it made her give a heated groan.

He chuckles and ducked his head again, tongue wiggling between his fingers and stroking against the insides of her walls while he curled his fingers and reached for a spot that made her see stars.

She moaned and bucked her hips up, feeling herself reduced to a puddle of sensitive mush. The fire burst in her belly and the pleasure was previously unimaginable, the ache for this to be over seemingly clouded by what was orgasmic bliss.

He chuckled again and curved a strong arm up and behind her back as he began to kiss his way up her stomach and over the fabric of her breasts. His hand cupped the back of her head and his other hand found the small of her back, adjusting her so she was lying flat on her back as he teased an aching nipple through lace. Ophelia whimpered softly at the feeling, eyes closed and her fingers still tangling deep into his hair. She loved the way it felt between her fingers, thick and soft and grounding.

Maybe her first time wouldn't be so bad with this possible sex God working the controls.

Every touch from him sent ripples through her body, but it felt like something was wrapping around her brain; every time she closed her eyes, an image of her brain being coiled by black smoke appeared. His lips plucked at her skin, both of his hands moving from her skin and grabbing the straining fabric between her small breasts. She opened her eyes this time and winced as he easily tore the lace apart, letting it fan out on either side of her and give him full reign over her chest.

"By the way," he hummed and his tongue darted out over a pert nipple, making her jump and squeak. "Names Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

He's taking his sweet time, enjoying the soft little noises she makes as his fingers ran over her skin. He's bowed over her, lips suckling at the hinge in her jaw and his hands stroke her in all the right places.

She twists her hips away from his hand that strokes languidly up and through the slick folds between her legs. He'd yet to have a virgin since the change and wondered if it made the Darkness sing like he thought it would. Spilling innocent blood seemed to do the trick. . .so taking innocence for himself had to do something, right? He was running on empty with the sins and debauchery, she seemed to be doing the trick as he was having one Hell of a time keeping the yapping in the back of his skull down.

"Can't wait to get inside of this," he murmured against her skin, massaging two fingers roughly into her; she whimpered and arched her chest up towards him. "You are so God damn perfect. . ." His breath was husky as he moved down her throat. "A little too heavy to be a stripper," her skin lit instantly beneath his touch. " 'course, never did like bones, ya know. . .not enough," he gave her hip a sharp squeeze with his free hand. "To hold onto while I fucked the daylights outta ya."

Ophelia whimpers and arches up against him, head swimming as her eyes shut tightly and her teeth tug on her bottom lip. Her small hands shake around his shoulders, wanting to tug him closer and push him away all at the same time. His grip on her hip is painful but his fingers continue to spark and ignite the raging need to hump up against his hand, which has her brain all kinds of confused and she's pretty sure sanity has already went out the window.

"P- Please," she begs and her fingers flex around his shoulders. "Pleeeease," she cries out in frustration as the heat becomes her single focus.

She doesn't want this, though she can't deny that the feelings he just made her experience were ones of complete and utter beauty - this wasn't how she wanted her first time to go. On a cheap, dingy mattress in the back of a strip club, sold to the man who seemed far too eager for her liking in taking away the only thing she had left to protect of herself.

"Hush," he murmured in her ear and loosened the grip on her hip, pulling them a little closer to his - where did his jeans go?! "Come on baby girl," his tongue soaked in the tears on her temple, driving her to look up into genuinely emerald eyes. "There we go. . .now, I'm gonna fuck you - that's a given - but its up to you to decided whether this goes smoothly or not, got me?"

Ophelia swallowed thickly and then nodded, hips reflexively wiggling beneath him. His grin was frightening but her muscles still maintained the consistency of jello, where her brain screamed _tense_. He rose above her slowly, intimidating and her eyes hooded, watching his slow, methodical undoing of the buttons of his chest, then the peeling of a shirt that begged to be tighter. He wasn't as perfect as she imagined - _she'd imagined?_ \- with no really defined muscles but he looked soft enough to not be scary - er, more scary.

She didn't know what she was doing until her fingers touched flesh, prodding at his belly and moving up his chest. He was patient, but his breathing was labored as she slowly sat up, chest pressed just above the hard lump in his briefs. She was flushed against him now, her hands pressing against flesh, picking at his skin in a possessed manner. Her breath came out in a shaky manner as he ran a hand through her hair, her eyes closing as she pressed her lips against his skin.

_Slow. . .just. . .slow down. . ._

He watched her almost curiously, chest heaving in a ragged breath; a fighting dog caged. Her eyes flickered up to him, lips gently parting from his skin and leaving behind a small, cold wet mark. Her eyes closed as he slowly wrapped a hand in her hair, tugging her back and causing new warmth to pool in her lower belly.

No fighting, no panic - if this was going to happen, she had to find some way to make it go just a little slower, make it a little less scary.

He pulled her back down to the mattress, his panting breath drowning out the muffled screams and the creak of springs in the other rooms. Just him and his stifling heat, the weird way he was making her feel and what was about to happen.

When his fingers found her heat again, she gasped and her hips jerked up against him, his lips tightening over her own. His thumb circled over her clit in a teasing manner, making her whimper and groan against his tongue, the breath snatched from her lungs when he began to ease a finger back into her, opposed to his brutal intrusion of two from moments ago. Her muscles clenched at him, arousal thick in the air and she would now gladly beg for him if he would let her mouth go.

Her hips wiggled and she bucked them up, thighs spreading and knees cocking; it created a very raw sensation, giving him complete, unobstructed access of her.

"That's it baby girl," he whispered into her ear and it only made her groan, lips twisting and harshly rubbing against the stubble on his jaw. "Wanna cum again? You want me to make you cum again?"

Pants and grunts came from her lips, Ophelia realizing her hips were moving wildly against his hand. Her cheeks flushed with arousal and she nodded fiercely, having to force her eyes open to beg his own. They were dark and greedy, enjoying her unraveling beneath him. His face, though, was utterly blank and Ophelia cried out as he hooked a finger up into her, rubbing that tender patch of muscle raw.

Her face twisted and her eyes closed, chest arching as she came against his hand. Her thighs twitched and clamped around his wrist, rubbing like she were trying to start a fire. She twisted her face into his chest, breath hot and moist against his skin; he groaned into her hair.

Maybe it really wouldn't be so hard. . .

Her eyes opened weakly as she felt a heavy shift in the mattress, felt his fingers pull free from her and then they were inches from her face. Hesitation showed on her face but, knowing there was no real chance of getting around it, she tentatively struck her tongue out against the shine. The taste was strange; her tongue flicked out yet again, between the tight space between the digits and he cantered his hand forward. Was he actually. . .?

Ophelia swallowed and reached up, pulling his hand closer and sucking one of his fingers into her mouth. His shoulders sagged behind her vision as she pulled from the first, still hesitant but it was from her. . .somehow that didn't comfort her. She licked the second one clean and looked up at Dean with big, doe eyes that seemed to spark something else behind his.

He wiggled his hand out of her grasp and she splayed both hands flat on the mattress, watching between her legs as he pushed his briefs down roughly, her throat closing at the sight of him. It wasn't like she had never seen a penis before, but she also hadn't seen a lot but. . .she knew he was big.

He reached between her legs, making her jump yet again when he gathered a fine sheen of her slick and began to stroke himself. It was. . .mildly mesmerizing, but when he began to crawl over her again, things became very real.

"Can't wait," he groaned and stroked his head up through her heat, making her jump. "God, you're gonna feel so fucking good."

Ophelia swallowed thickly, fingers tightening in the sheets. "P- Please," she whispered. "Don't. . .don't hurt me please."

His eyes flickered up to hers and Ophelia's eyes stretched wide as he filled her in one stroke. She couldn't even scream, though her lips opened and her mind begged to do so. His pelvis settled quite nicely against her and he didn't move, pushing the dark hair back from her sweaty face as a whine started deep in her throat.

He brushed the hair back and licked a slow strip up her throat, nibbling at her ear lobe as he pulled out slowly, groaning as her wet heat clenched around him. She gasped into his ear, her left hand stretching down his side, right hand holding tight to his bicep as he pushed back in. His hands grabbed at her hips, as if he were in a mild frenzy, but he reached back for the sheets after leaving lingering, red impressions in her skin.

She was as incredibly tight as Dean expected and he growled in an inhuman way, hand fisting in the sheets at her hip. He could heard her swallow and her right leg drug slowly up his thigh to his hip, like she didn't know what to - oh wait, she _didn't_ know what to do.

He untangled his hand from the sheet, reaching back and grabbing her knee. "Leave it there," he growled and Ophelia whimpered, hips rolling against his.

His thrusts were long and slow, using every ounce of self control he had so long as those gasps kept coming, her walls continued to pulse and flex around him. . .he couldn't last much longer. She didn't have much of her own rhythm, not that it really mattered with the way his hips had their own, domineering pace. Ophelia keened and her eyes fluttered open, darting around his face before she ran her hands back up his skin.

She held his face for but a moment, enjoying the rough texture of his stubble and then the cool feeling of his lips against hers. They moved harshly against hers, his hips jerking and pressing into her - he was close and she feared what he would do, somewhere deep in her mind. But he pulled from her and she tossed her head back, crying out and digging her knees into his hips, she came down around him like a vice; he couldn't pull out if he wanted to.

"D- Dean," she breathed against his throat, feeling her eyes heavy and a warmth spreading into her, through her. . .

He merely panted against her jaw, his teeth teasing the skin and his body heat was a comfort. She let out a shaky breath and her head relaxed back against the bed, eyes drifting closed as he began to peel himself away from her. Her hands drew slack against the sheets, breath coming in shallow pants, skin shiny in the dim lamp in the corner of the room.

She was asleep before he was even off the bed, which made him smirk and his eyes go black, hands rubbing softly together. He had been dying to bring out the black eyes when he was fucking her, but he didn't need to stir up that shit show just yet. No, no he'd save that little surprise for later - and he definitely planned on a later.

* * *

She woke up in pain.

Well, more like discomfort but sitting up was a challenge on its own.

Ophelia groaned and wrapped her arms around her middle, wiggling to the edge of the bed and pushing up with her right hand. Her legs wobbled beneath her with the effort but she didn't stagger back like she expected.

She pulled her arms clear of her hips and stomach, brow dipping as she ran her trembling fingers over the finger shaped bruises around her hips. She felt where he had grabbed her in even gentle ways at her legs and arms, throat; the pluck of his teeth left small beads of blood on her collar bone and neck.

Ophelia swallowed thickly as she stood there, taking in the silence around her for a moment. She limped towards the dresser, gaining footing after a couple of steps, and pulled out a pair of jean shorts and a plain shirt; would Chet let her go out today? She hoped he would, she also hoped the bathroom was clear so she could wash away her night. There was a part somewhere in her that hurt at the need to get rid of his touch and smell, but her brain just couldn't cope with. . .why was there glass everywhere?

Ophelia stepped slowly out of her room, teeth clicking as she ground them together and looked down the black walls leading to the door leading out to the floor. Where there had once been a long mirror was now shattered across the floor, light filtering through the window of the bathroom behind her making everything very clear. There was only the faint sound of music playing in the main part of the club, each door down the hall open and revealing empty rooms; where was everyone?

Her hand trembled slightly as she twisted the knob, her eyes widening at the sight in the main room. There were bills scattered across the floor, slightly twitching at the overhead fans that ran on full rotation; the metal box Chet usually kept them in below a deep duvet in the painted pink wall. One of the poles - the one she had danced around last night - had been either kicked down or ripped out of the wall and was lying half off - half on the stage. Blood spattered over the lit floor that still danced in checkered patterns of color. The room was empty, but the speakers continued to thump a hypnotic tune that had a strange under current; were those people screaming?

Ophelia jumped when she heard a growl, eyes rolling to the cracked door of Chet's office; she was shaking uncontrollably by now. Her feet carried her towards the door, right hand tentatively nudging the door open.

She screamed and stuttered backwards as Chet's body collapsed onto the stained carpet with a wet thud, his groans still audible through gnarled teeth. Dean stood above him with cracked, bloody knuckles and a devilish smirk on his face, blood spattered up his shirt and neck.

He looked up when he finally noticed her, a broad grin coming to his lips. Was she hallucinating or were his eyes actually black? Trick of the lighting? Trick of the brain? Had to be - it just had to be.

"Hey there, baby girl," Dean crooned and dipped at the waist, dusting both hands into the front of Chet's blood soaked shirt. "I meant to be done before ya got up but. . .guess the time just slipped away from me," he grunted as he rocketed Chet into the wall, making the man release a shrill cry of agony. "I'm only gonna ask one more time man, what'd you do with them?"

Chet gurgled, spitting down at the floor before Dean sighed and dropped him all together. He crumbled like a sack of potatoes, looking over at Ophelia with this bored expression.

Nightmare.

Had to be a nightmare.

Because his eyes were still black and there was blood everywhere and her head was spinning and. . .and. . .

Ophelia tumbled backwards, eyes threatening to close before she realized someone had caught her; of course, the floor was nowhere near as soft and warm. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Dean, her stomach rolling and snapping at her.

"Dean. . ." The voice above her head was deep and unfamiliar. "Jesus, Dean what did you do?"

Dean shrugged and when he looked up, she watched his eyes go from eternal darkness to serene green. "Got tired of waiting on you," he sighed. "And the guy just wouldn't shut the fuck up. . .so I decided to start the questioning a little early," he jerked his chin at Ophelia. "Careful with this one, looks like she's gonna puke."

"I think _I_ might," the deep voice murmured above her. "Hey. . .hey, can you stand up on your own?"

Ophelia blinked a couple of times, watching Dean wipe blood away from his fingers with the back of Chet's shirt. She craned her neck back to look up at the sort of handsome face of the new stranger, her tongue running over her bottom lip as she tried to stand. He steadied her with a firm grip on her shoulder, his other arm in a sling; who was he?

"I. . .I need to sit down," she whispered.

"Ya can sit in the car," Dean hummed as he strode towards them, a smile on his face; _what was he?_ "Help her to the car, Sammy, I'm gonna do a quick sweep to see if I left anything out of place."

The man, Sammy, sighed but nodded as Dean disappeared into the back. "My name is Sam," he corrected Ophelia as they stepped out into the harsh morning light. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

Ophelia floundered for a minute, jumping when the door to the black car creaked open. "I-I have bruises. . ." she sank slowly into creaky leather. "What is he," she looked up at Sam, who had a solemn look on his face. "He just. . .he paid for me and then he. . .and the place is destroyed. . ."

"Believe it or not, he saved you," Sam started, leaning against the door. "He called me last night and told me to get over here. . .said he found something he needed me to see. . .and he's a demon," Ophelia's eyes widened in fear. "Yeah, its a long story - but the black eyes and that stuff back there is the work of a demon. . .please don't have a heart attack."

Ophelia swallowed thickly, feeling her chest constricting but she didn't even squeak. "I-I lost my virginity to a demon," she whispered. "Oh God. . .this can't be real - it can't," she looked back up at Sam. "Please tell me the is just some kind of sick joke."

He shook his head solemnly. "Sorry. . .I know its a lot. . .but right now we need to focus on getting out of here. And why my brother called me after the last time we spoke, he told me he'd sooner kill me than talk again."

"And look at that, I changed my mind," Sam grunted as Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder, white teeth glaring down at Ophelia. "Hey, sweet cheeks you holdin up okay?"

Her jaw trembled but she nodded and took the hint when he tapped her knees, tucking them into the car. He slammed the door shut and Sam sighed as he slid into the passengers seat, Ophelia staring at the back of Dean's head as he climbed into the drivers seat and started the engine.

"What's going on Dean," Sam questioned after at least fifteen minutes of silence.

"Well, I was thinking of getting some rest," he yawned in a dramatic fashion. "Brutal murder does tend to wear one out," he paused. "But, I did threaten to beat your head in last time we ta -"

"You said you'd rip my throat out with your teeth," Sam corrected, him, looking slightly bewildered.

Dean bobbed his head fiercely. "Right, that's what I said," his eyes flickered to Ophelia in the rearview mirror. "But some things have come up. . .and I actually need ya on this one. Can't have anyone else findin' out."

Sam looked over at Dean, brow furrowed. "Finding out about what?"

Dean pursed his lips slightly. "Kids dying," Ophelia tensed. "She's nothing close to human."


	3. Chapter 3

"She's not human? Are you sure?"

"Kids dyin' I could feel it inside of her. I'm surprised she's still on her feet."

Ophelia closed her eyes as Dean talked, tightening the red button up he had thrown at her around her body. She curled her knees up the bury her face into them, hands rubbing up and down her upper arms.

They said she was a something, but they weren't sure what for; apparently it was big enough to rope in an angel that was weakening by the minute. The angel - Castiel - said he wasn't even sure what he was feeling was her being a vessel, Dean's first guess, it was something else, but Dean was adamant about what he had felt when he was. . .inside of her.

Ophelia just wanted to go home.

"Hey there babe," Ophelia tensed, fingers digging into her arms at a painful capacity. "Aw, did I scare ya?"

Ophelia hesitated but lifted her head to look up at Dean, his cocky smirk and chest straining beneath a black, cotton shirt. Her brow creased for a split second and then Ophelia pushed from her seat, to her feet and into his chest without a second thought. He grunted when she collides with him, her arms wrapping around him and holding tight; she just. . .she needed a hug, bad.

He didn't hug her back, not like she wanted him to anyway, but limply around the waist would have to do.

"You're fuckin me up kid," he murmured somewhere above her head.

Ophelia craned her neck back to look up at him and he ducked his head to claim her lips. The kiss was firm and hot, his hands grabbing for her ass like a ship goes for an anchor; she arched up onto her toes as he did that. Why did he have to be a demon? Why couldn't he be someone she met years down the road, someone that was in her age range at least, not almost twenty years apart? He was a demon, she was illegal - Ophelia was dying.

She pulled away with a gasp, stumbling back and bouncing on the plastic of the Impala's seat as she ran her fingers over her bottom lip. Her chest heaved with panting breath as she peered from under her brow to Dean, who looked somewhere between lost and lust.

"Hey guys - uh, did I interrupt somethin'," Sam questioned as he jogged up, eyeing the way Ophelia shook slightly. "Dean, what did you do?"

"Mind your own business," he snapped at Sam, who held up a hand in defense; he sighed. "What do you want?"

Sam lowered his hand and Ophelia looked down, straightening herself a little. "Cas uh. . .Cas says he thinks he can fix the whole. . .her dying part, but he doesn't know why she's dying exactly. Not like she needs to, to be someone's vessel. . ."

"Not helping," Dean snapped when Ophelia's eyes widened. "When can he do it, huh? I got somethin to. . .do," he winked at Ophelia and she turned ten levels of red.

Sam rolled his eyes. "He has to gather a few things first, because of the whole power shortage thing but he said three days and he can fix this," Sam smiles at Ophelia. "He says he can probably even get you home."

Ophelia gave Sam a soft smile, but her head was still spinning and she didn't really know how to feel right now. _Fixed_. She would focus on getting fixed, nothing else. . .she hoped.

* * *

Her eyes pop wide and she opens her mouth to scream for some reason but he clamps a firm hand over her mouth. He's grinning through the darkness and its very unnerving, especially with the glow from the pink, neon Motel sign behind him.

"Fuck," he murmured. "I can smell ya every damn where, what kind of dream were ya havin baby girl?"

Her cheeks heat up and she closes her eyes, shame rolling through her in thick waves. She shouldn't be having dreams about him in that way, shouldn't entertain the thought of him with her at all because he was a demon and he bought her.

But her mind is running out of excuses.

Her eyes pop open again when two fingers stroke firmly up against the thin cotton of her shorts. Her lips part against his fingers and her hips arch upwards into the warm touch. His eyes sparkle because he knows he has her, knows with that second stroke she's already crumbling:

Because she wants it, and she hates that.

"You are just absolutely delectable, ya know that," he whispers against her throat, planting kisses that have Ophelia weak and pliable. "You want this, baby girl, I know ya do because you're as hot as a God damn furnace. . ."

He lets loose a tremble above her, inhaling deeply and loudly as he rubs a firm circle against the dip between her folds, testing her entrance and causing uncomfortable pricks of pain to shoot through her. But she whimpers anyway, arching into his chest and digging her nails into the leather of the back seat.

"Soakin through your shorts baby," he mutters into her ear, pulling his hand away from her mouth and groaning as she moans. "Oh fuck, yeah I knew you wanted this again. . ."

"D-Dean," Ophelia hiccuped, reaching for his bicep and squeezing as he worked his fingers back and forth. . .side to side. . .driving her insane. "Dean please -"

"Hush, sweetheart," he chuckled into her ear. "Did ya think because I took ya away from that fuckin pervert that I was never gonna fuck you again," she shivered at the hot breath that billowed over her neck. "God no, you're still tight and you're still mine, so who am I to not play with my toys?"

Ophelia whimpered and tried to push him back, but she only had one arm free; her other was pinned above her head in a cramped way by his hand. She craned her neck, head spinning as she sought Sam but only managed to appear as though she wanted Dean to continue his ministrations. Her eyes squeezed closed as he planted heavy, open-mouth kisses against her throat, his teeth digging in and surely piercing skin.

Ophelia twisted her hips beneath him and gasped, the air moist in the tightly sealed cab of the Impala.

Where was Sam? Where was Castiel?

"See," Dean whispered and rose above her slightly, Ophelia's blood turning ice in her veins at the darkness in his eyes. "You want every bit of this, don't ya baby? How about I make a deal with you. . ."

Ophelia hesitates. "Wh-What kind of deal?"

He grinned menacingly. "I'm so glad you asked," he purred and pressed himself firmly against her, tight enough to make her grunt. "Ya see, there's been some complications and you need a good home," her body tensed. "Can't send ya back even after you're fixed, so you're all mine, baby girl."

"Why can't I go home," she whined, trying to angle her hips away from his palm, but there was no getting away in the cramped space. "I-I just want to go home!"

"Think of me as your new home, babe," he chuckled. "Now, as for the deal - ya have two options, by the way. See, there's you being a good girl and getting to actually enjoy it like you did last night," his fingers roughly massaged her, making her skin prickle and an involuntary groan claw at her throat. "Or, you can fight it and I can make this hurt. . .I don't really care, either way I'm gonna fuck you so. . ."

Ophelia's eyes flickered around the seat, around him to the roof of the car, to the edge of the sign against his back; she could hear something on the radio, but couldn't make out the words. Her eyes closed slowly and Ophelia manages to pry her thighs apart enough to. . .submit to the demon above her.

"Good girl," he praised her and Ophelia hates the way her voice hitched at his touch. "You're so hot, baby, I can't wait to taste you," his lips trailed in that breathy whisper down her throat and away from her skin.

Ophelia trembled as he grabbed her hips and angled them up in a way that was very much uncomfortable from her end; her neck was bent and the tip of her head was pressed against the door. He tugged her shorts down with small jerks and twists of her hips, his arms wrapping around her thighs and spreading her open to him; she felt the hot air of the car against her dripping sex and heard him purr.

" _Gah!_ " She squeezed her eyes shut tight and slammed her fist against the door beside her head; his tongue drug up through her soaked thick slick a second time and Ophelia tossed her head back as best she could. "O- _Oh!_ Dean! It - oh my _God!_ "

He chuckled and adjusted his grip, staring over the bent swell of her belly and her shirt, her face scrunched up and gasping. He struck his tongue into her, that velvety spear making her gasp and writhe in his hands. She wanted to scrunch up and thrash, buck against his overwhelmingly magical mouth. . .

She whimpered when he slowly inserted a finger into her, his tongue rolling firm circles around her clit. She gasped when his teeth nibble at the top of the mound, bottom teeth raking up and down her clit as he did so. He inserted a second finger, stroking slowly in and out of her, making small scissoring motions and making her buck and gasp.

His eyes flashed down to hers when her fingers scrambled for a tight hold in his hair. She held him hard against her pussy, her free hand grabbing onto the leather of the seat.

"You're fucking perfect," he praised in a husky whisper, fingers curling inside of her and finding a small, rough patch of muscle. "Once this is all over. . .I can't wait to really get rough with you."

Ophelia cried out and squeezed her eyes shut, her thighs shaking as she came against his mouth. Dean closed his eyes and inhales the beautiful scent of her, enjoying the sweet taste of her; the daughters of men certainly were dangerous, even though he was a demon he would worship this pussy until judgement day.

She went slack in his hand, right leg draping limply down against the floor, left wrapped around his hip. She watched from behind her heaving chest as he thoroughly cleaned her shiny slick from his fingers. When he caught her watching, he paused and she nearly let her breath catch, afraid he was going to do something bad. He grinned boldly at her, his pupils so wide she mistook his eyes for being demonic black.

Her sensitive sex twitched as he stroked his fingers gently through her wetness. She swallowed thickly as he raised them for her inspection.

Her eyes followed the shiny digits with bated breath, her senses assaulted by the sweet tang of her own juices. Her eyes flickered up to his when he cantered them slightly forward, closer to her mouth. Her tongue peeked out against her bottom lip before she did what she knew he wanted and reached up with a limp hand to grasp his wrist. He let out a shuddering breath as her tongue ran up between his fingers, the sharp tang of herself coating her tongue. She pulled back and hesitated, taking his slow nod as a signal to go further and she went about cleaning his fingers.

He pulled the second from her mouth and pushed forward, capturing her lips easily. Her heart stutters in her chest, arms limp as he throws them up around his neck. His teeth tug on her bottom lip, grinding until she squeaked and he chuckled as he pulled away.

"I can't wait to see how good you suck cock, baby girl," he whispered like he were babbling pillow talk into her ear. "Ever sucked dick before, hmm?"

"N-No," she whispered, looking fearfully up at him. "Do I. . .do I have to, Dean?"

His shoulders tensed and then the black came out, something she found both terrifying and. . .mildly fascinating. He rocked his jaw back and forth and then he sighed, looking down at his belt buckle. His chest heaved and he peered up from under his brow.

"No, baby girl," he whispered and reached down, pushing hair back from her sweaty skin. "Not yet, anyway. . ."

She swallowed slowly. "Okay. . ." She looked around. "Wh-Where is Sam?"

He sighed and ran a hand back over his hair. "Inside, either sound asleep or worried sick that I'm out here sacrificing you to make a call downstairs - I'm bettin' on the latter."

Ophelia bit her lip, hips twisting beneath him. "Can I please put my shorts back on?"

"No," he snapped and reached for her, making Ophelia squeak as he flipped them over so she was on his chest. "No, you're gonna sit here and go back to sleep - you look like shit even after the display you gave me. Which was beautiful by the way."

Ophelia rested her cheek against his chest, fingers tightening in his shirt; her groin ached as she was stretched over him but she didn't complain.

"You're gonna make sure I don't die, right Dean," she whispered.

His hand stroked languidly up her thigh, over her ass. "Nah," he sighed. "You're not gonna die any time soon, babe."

* * *

She doesn't like how she feels when she wakes up, but only because she feels like she's being watched, not anything else.

Yes, her muscles ached and she was still groggy, but it was that. . . _feeling_. Like when she had been kidnapped, the eerie sense that something just wasn't right; it was a subtle shift in the air, making everything heavier.

Ophelia blinked slowly as she clenched her fist in Dean's shirt, eyes straining in the morning light. She tilted her head up to Dean's slack jaw and listened to his oddly thrumming heartbeat; it was faster and also quieter than a normal heartbeat.

Ophelia groaned slightly as she lifted her head and braced a hand against the seat beside his ribs, pushing her hair back before she heard. . .something. She twisted her head back slightly and her eyes grew wide, a scream ripping from her throat as she made eye contact with the man leering at her through the window.

Dean was awake immediately, twisting her beneath him as he kicked open the door. Ophelia scrambled for her shorts, stumbling out of the car and against the hot pavement of the parking lot; one of the motel doors flew open and she watched Sam stumble out, gun at the ready and then tucked into his boxers when he saw Dean ramming the mans nose into his cheeks.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed and reached for Dean, but he knocked him back with a firm arm to the chest.

Dean growled in a monstrous way as he tightened his fist in the mans collar and jerked him up against his fist; the knuckles were broken and bloody, a mix.

"The fuck you think you are lookin at somethin' that ain't yours," Dean snarled. "She's mine, you limp dick son of a bitch!"

The man spat up blood and that seemed to piss Dean off even more because the final punch. . .killed the man. He let out a strangled gasp and went limp, his chest completely still. Dean rose back on his knees as he straddled the body, grinning at Sam like a child who thought they had done a good job.

"Dean what he fuck did you do," Sam whispered, running his hands up through his hair.

Dean looked over at Ophelia, who held both hands over her mouth and her hair was whipped around her by the wind. She slowly lowered her hands, taking a soft step back before she shook her head and lowered her hands completely.

"He was watching me while I slept," she whispered and tightened her fingers against her thighs. "H-He saw all of me!"

"And that's why he had to die," Dean purred and staggered to his feet. "So, who wants to help me bury the body?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil filler, a lil angsty, a lot smutty

She's thrumming her fingers softly against the gas station counter, chewing slowly on the gum Sam had given her. She's waiting for the cashier to come to the front instead of gab on her phone like she's doing within choking view.

There's a rattle at the door and Ophelia's head snaps up, blood going ice cold when she saw the annoyed face of Dean clenching the bar hard enough to leave dents as he stalks towards the counter. The cashier finally decides to put her phone down when Dean roughly shoved Ophelia to the side, his intimidating presence making Ophelia know better than to whimper or fall, because that means she makes him look bad.

"Excuse me sir, you should -"

" _You_ should get off the fucking phone and take her money," Dean snapped. "We have places to be, and I don't have time for your fucking phone calls," he reached back and grabbed Ophelia roughly by the wrist, snatching the money from her hand and slamming it down onto the counter. "Now, twenty two fifty on pump three!"

The cashier sputtered and raked up the money as Dean grabbed Ophelia's hand and drug her from the gas station. Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, long legs twisted between concrete and the Impala's door. He sighed as he looked up at Dean and Ophelia approaching, scowling when Dean thrust the dark haired girl towards Sam. She stuttered to a stop inches from Sam's chest, her head hung and arms limp at her sides; Dean swung around to the other side of the car, grabbing the pump nozzle and bitching all the way.

Sam set aside the page he was reading and reached out, brushing his fingers against Ophelia's elbow. It got her attention in a snap, a wild look fading from her eyes when she realized it was him.

She'd been through too much the past few days, but Sam had to admire and envy her resolve, her ability to still be standing on her feet. She'd even helped bury the man Dean had killed early that morning, but Sam had the feeling it was mostly for herself and not to get this whole situation past them like Sam was trying to do. Sam couldn't blame her, really, for being mostly okay with the cold blooded murder of that man. He'd seen parts of her no one should see without her permission, she was entitled to a little nonchalance about him getting his face bashed in.

But it was her handling of Dean that surprised him the most.

She was obviously freaked out about the demon part, scared consistently by his handlings, but she had willingly had sex with him. She'd embraced him more than once, would have rather stand by him or help him than Sam. Maybe it was some kind of twisted Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe the kid was just really fucked up.

Okay, she was clearly fucked up, and that was still a bit of an understatement.

"Hey," Sam murmured and Ophelia looked seconds away from a mental breakdown. "You're gonna be okay, you know that right?"

Ophelia hesitated and then nodded, shuffling her feet back and forth. "I just. . ." She rubbed her arm. "It keeps coming back all at once, the past few days I mean, even whenever I think I'm fine I just. . .it feels like I'm having a panic attack every few minutes."

Sam sighed. "Don't worry, we're gonna fix this and. . .well, just worry about getting to that point, okay? If you feel like you're about to lose it, just talk to me, okay? I'm here when thing -"

"Get your own bitch, Sam," Dean snarled, his arm snatching Ophelia around the waist.

Sam raised his hands up, giving Ophelia an apologetic look. She looked like a frightened little doe in the arms of a jaguar; but she was clinging to his shirt as he drug her around to his side of the car. Sam was hoping to get Dean cured while they were at this, hopefully he hadn't been alerted to the plan in any way but Sam was pretty sure the task would be hard. He wanted his brother back, but he was also kind of concerned about how he would react when he remembered what he did to this girl.

Or would he even care with the Mark still branded on him?

Sam sighed and pulled his legs into the car, humming to himself and watching Dean lean over Ophelia in the back seat, situated between her thighs, one hand bracing him on the seat and the other tilting her chin up as he whispered into her ear. Her eyes were closed and one hand hovered around his shoulder; her fingers were trembling.

Sam shook his head and looked down to the book in his hand, running a finger up the seam. He wondered what progress Cas had made on trying to figure out what was wrong with Ophelia. He did see a slight change in her condition since they had picked her up; her eyes were slightly gaunt, she was thinner, her nails were graying. She was decaying to make room for a stronger soul, she was slowly being drained off all life but. . .something didn't seem right. They'd never heard of something like this, neither had Cas so that was alarming but then again apparently plenty of things were hidden from Cas so. . .

"I guess you want to go to the fucking bunker," Dean slammed his door as Ophelia heaved the back door closed, her cheeks red.

Sam shrugged. "It would be the smarter route," he murmured. "Do you have any other ideas?"

"Obviously not or I wouldn't have called you," Dean rolled his eyes.

"I-I need. . . _things_ ," Ophelia murmured softly from the back seat.

Before Dean could open his mouth, Sam spoke. "I'll uh. . .take ya out once we get to the bunker, alright? We're not that far," he paused. "I don't think anyway."

"Six hours," Dean chirped, flying past a school bus filled with children that actually gawked.

"I can wait," she clenched her knees tightly.

"Didn't have much of a choice, doll face," Dean hummed.

"Should be a little nicer to her," Sam murmured, eyes down. "Kind of did throw her for a loop into a worse situation than she was already in. . ."

A losing battle, but Sam had to try.

Dean snorted but didn't say anything, his face smoothing out as they drove in relative silence. Sam looked into the rearview mirror, saw Ophelia staring out the window; she seemed fine, but her brow was slightly creased. The situation would have to be resolved soon, Sam wanted to save the girl; she deserved to be happier than she was.

And she wouldn't be able to be happy with Dean.

* * *

Ophelia fell asleep in the car like she always had when she was a child. Momma would sing along to whatever song was on the radio, from Hey Jude to Scrubs and Ophelia would fall asleep to her momma's voice. She missed her so much, regretted not saying so many things, regretted not being as grateful as she should have been. Her father had never been a big part of their family, if she was being honest - he worked off shore, so he was rarely home - so it was mostly her and her momma.

But the arms around her _weren't_ her momma's, they were too thick, too strong and the chest her face nuzzled was so warm.

Ophelia's eyes fluttered open, meeting a bright red shirt and nothing else. She blinked slowly, peering up to Dean's stubbled jaw and bright lights overhead. He was humming beneath his breath and it made his chest vibrate, the arm wrapped beneath her legs let its hand worm under her shorts. She had no doubt he knew she was awake, but he didn't say anything to her about it. And she didn't want to ruin the calm, was content with him holding her despite how terrified she was of him.

He opened a door and when he shut it behind them the room was pitch black. She curled into his chest more and he finally chuckled; she was terrified of the dark, almost more than she was of Dean. It only compared because. . . _he_ was exactly what she feared was in the darkness.

He dropped her onto what she assumed was a bed and she almost whimpered, but she didn't want to. . .she didn't exactly know what, considering his reactions to the dullest of things wasn't exactly how normal people react.

The bed dipped by her hip, where Dean was, and her breath hitched when hot lips pressed against her throat. His hand grabbed the other side of her hip and his thumb stroked her exposed hip bone, creeping down her thigh and taking her shorts with it.

"Dean," she whispered, craning her neck into his mouth; why did she go along with this so easily?

"Know how hard it is to keep in check around him," he murmured, his other hand helping her out of her clothes; or basically forcing, you choose your battle. "And I mean from fucking you until you can't walk, because its very difficult."

"Dean -"

"I can still smell it, ya know, too innocent for your own good around a demon," to emphasize, he inhaled deeply under her ear. "Taste too fucking good to ignore, too, and I'm tryin _so_ hard. . .but he's doin some research, got ya all to myself. . ."

"D-Dean," she whined, getting a mouthful of her shirt when he tugged it over her head. "Dean I don't -"

"And if you think the next words coming out of your mouth will be acceptable," he roughly grabbed her between her legs, drawing a quick inhale from her as she arched off of the bed. "Must I reiterate that _this_ belongs to _me?_ "

"N-No," she squeaked, her fingers tightening in the sheets at her sides.

She could almost see his smirk through the darkness. "Good girl," he purred, loosening his grip on her betrayer of a pussy that was hot and wet. "Like it a little rough, huh? Figured you were that type'a girl."

That. . .type of girl? No, no she wasn't but also. . .why? Why was she. . .was she _becoming_ that kind of girl? She'd never even liked slides because she was pretty sure she'd fall off the top of one even with guard rails. Demon sex? She'd never even thought something could be possible but here she was, pinned beneath a relentless. . .impossibly sexy demon.

Maybe she really _was_ that type of girl.

Ophelia whimpered when the tips of his fingers brushed down her clit, his lips working tender magic up her throat, down her chest. It didn't take much to get her wired up and by the time he reached her breast, she was already panting and close to coming undone. She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple, cheeks heating when he chuckled at her.

She hated that, hated how easily he made her lose control over her own body, made her actually okay with what he was doing to her. She liked the way he felt and she liked what he made her feel. And it was wrong, it was all wrong, she should feel terror and want to flee, but she was content to tremble by his side.

"Waited days for this," he murmured against her hot skin; she could hear his belt rattling and now knew where his hands had went. "Waited days to hear you scream my name. . ."

" _Dean_ ," she whimpered, stretching beneath him, his jeans scraping against her thighs as he kicked them off.

"I said scream, not whimper babe," he chuckled and she seized when his head pressed against her sex. "Bet you're still so fucking tight," he groaned.

And she was.

Fun for him, a fresh pain for her.

He wasn't slow or gentle entering her, a quick thrust and he was buried inside of her; he got chills and she gave a strangled cry of pain. Her nails dug into his arm, he braced a hand against her back and pulled her closer to him. His heat had become suffocating but she didn't retract, she pulled against him, whimpered into his chest.

"Oh baby girl," the false sympathy in his voice made her stomach knot up.

Her heat clenched around him without her permission, drawing a nearly feral growl from his chest and he rolled his hips into hers. She gasped and pain shot through her groin but she bucked into his hips. He gave her an almost amused sounding hum and pulled his hips back from hers until only his tip remained and them filled her again in one, smooth stroke.

" _Dean_ ," she moaned softly, her eyes closing in the darkness.

He pressed his lips against hers and it are an odd, hitched moan from her lips; her hand grabbed his shoulder, her hips meeting his thrusts, albeit sloppily. She could feel the coil, tightening and tightening in her lower belly; all she could hear was the slap of skin, the panting breath in her ear.

He growled.

Not loudly, not boldly, but beneath his breath, maybe deep in his chest, Ophelia could hear the inhuman growls and groans. They gave her chills, but she didn't say anything, she continued to meet his thrusts and moaned for him, clenched around him.

"D- _Dean_ ," she whimpered, his teeth finding her throat. "Dean -"

His teeth dug into her skin as he gave a slightly louder growl, his thrusts becoming stronger, just a little more painful. She squirmed beneath him, freezing each time his overly sharp canines dug into her skin and gave her quick jolts of pain.

It turned her on. . .more, more than the friction in and out of her did.

"D-Dean," she arched against his chest. "Dean. . . _ah, Dean!_ "

"Yeah baby," he murmured into her ear; God, she hoped that was just spit on his lips. . .awfully warm. "Cum for me baby girl, I just need you to cum for me - and scream if you want to."

Was he still peeved about her talking to Sam? He hadn't been the same after the gas station, more frustrated and lewd - which was saying something. But he'd made her make every noise under the rainbow since then; little squeaks, soft moans, a good slap on the ass that made her yelp - all while in front of Sam.

 ** _Testosterone_**.

She didn't cum with a scream, but a soft coo, one she didn't even give permission to leave her body. She trembled beneath him, from an orgasm that took her breath away and every smooth, hard thrust of his hips. A fist dug into the sheets by her head, the hand at her back digging its nails into her tender skin. There was no getting away from it, and Ophelia found she didn't see it as a top priority.

It was that second orgasm rearing its head that was a priority.

"Again," he grunted, feeling her convulse around him, hearing her gasp out his name. "On fire sweetheart."

Taught as a bow sting, she whimpered and bucked her hips up towards his, nails running down his shoulders, his bicep. Her lips popped into a wide O and Dean held her still against him as she drew him over the edge with her. She could feel it, all of it, and heat spread through her and made her a limp little noodle.

Dean finally let the bubble burst, a short gasp in her ear and then shallow panting that matched hers as he separated sticky skin and fell into the mattress beside her. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, no seeing the point really because the only thing she could manage to make out through the darkness was the faint light on the ceiling from under the door.

"Not half bad sister," Ophelia yelped as Dean roughly jerked her against his side. "Need ta work on that form of yours though, don't know what to do with that body you got."

Ophelia, of course, said nothing. What could she say? _Please no? I don't want to?_ A waste of breath and she knew it, so she'd just take what she could get of this tenderness. His hand was rubbing a small path against her hip; it was so small, but it was something.

And she needed it before she broke down.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed this in TWO. FREAKING. HOURS.
> 
> And then it took another three hours (YEAH THREE) because I work on my phone and had complications moving the file to my FF account and then getting the spacing right, grammar right, italicizing the right things, and I still think I failed in a few spots.
> 
> Ugh.

He catches her doing it the next morning.

Though, what he's seeing isn't exactly something he can explain. What it is, he doesn't know, but he knows immediately that he needs to find Cas and he hasn't had that thought since he had a soul.

Its what wakes him up, nose twitching at the smell of fallen grace and then there's that humming. The sound of an angel dying, something more distinct than he ever thought it could be. Its soft and warm, like the light emanating from the palm of her hand; its pale pink against her skin, lighter as it drifts away. She watches it while she flexes her fingers, sending small little flakes that look like dust mites pumped with glitter into the air around her.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, not because he's stunned or something so dumb, but he's silent because he's watching her test whatever the Hell is going on in her hand. When she curls her fingers down over the light, the humming gets louder, the light glows a little brighter.

What the actual Hell?

"Oh wow," she jumps when he finally talks, tightening the arm that's over her chest; as if he hasn't seen them already. "Yeah that's new."

Ophelia stared at him with complete loss on her face, the light dying in the palm of her hand. She looks down she its gone, flipping her hand over a couple of times, fingers stretching as her brow furrows.

"I woke up and my hand was glowing," she whispered, swallowing thickly. "And my chest. . ." She reached up, stroking her hand over her collar bones. "It was glowing too. . ."

She ran her hand up her face and into her hair, tears making the edges of her vision blurry. She hiccuped softly and slowly sank back into the pillows, fingers tightening in her bangs to the point where she felt strands pop at the root. What was happening to her? Why were lights coming from her body? When had her life completely turned into a shit show with her as the main attraction?

"Hey," why did he have to sound so sympathetic? "Hey, don't do that shit."

Ophelia blinked softly, tears streaking down into her hairline. She looked over at Dean, saw him staring at her with an odd look on his face, she couldn't really place it. He shook his head a little and sighed, raking both hands through his hair before he kicked the blankets from his legs and stood.

"You're gonna stop that shit," he pointed at her, reaching down for his jeans. "And you're, unfortunately, gonna get some clothes on. And we're gonna talk to Cas."

Ophelia's bottom lip trembled as she sat up, watching him angrily button up his shirt. "Wh-Why not just let me _die_ ," she whispered; his back tensed and Ophelia bit her lip, looking down at her lap. "I don't have anything anymore. . .my family is gone, I'm already dying just. . . _why not?_ "

Dean didn't say anything for a long time, back to Ophelia as he breathed evenly, but she could hear it, the deep rumble in his chest, the inhuman part of him angry at her words for some reason. So she wanted to die? Why did he even want to keep her alive? Maybe it wasn't him, maybe it was Sam or even that angel -

" _Shut up_ ," his voice was even in tone. "Get some fucking clothes on and go to the library."

Ophelia opened her mouth, dropping her arm from her chest to reach out and catch him. She tightened a fist in the sleeve of his shirt but he roughly shrugged her off, slamming the door in her face. She huffed at the door, hitting her fist weakly against it before she started grabbing her clothes from the floor. She really needed a shower, to get the sticky off of her but she was afraid if she didn't do just as Dean said, she would get more than a rough brush off.

Ophelia shut the door behind her, adjusting the hem of her shirt if only to stall before she had to find her way to the library. She'd been asleep - or at least halfway so - when Dean had carried her to bed, she didn't see which way he had taken but she did remember -

"And right it is," she murmured, shuffling along around the smells of breakfast clinging to the air. "Wonder if there is anything left. . ." She murmured.

The library was bright, and grand - in her eyes. Ophelia loved books, she really did, mostly just the way they looked and smelled because very rarely did she find a book that could hold her interest. But as she looked at the shelves she passed, she saw titles in different languages, thick novels and ones that appeared ancient; if she touched one, would it crumble? There were trinkets and sharp things on display between shelves, all almost glittering beneath the lights.

"Yeah," she looked up at Sam, who was smiling as he sat down at the head of one of the tables in the center of the room. "Its pretty magnificent isn't it?"

Ophelia nodded softly, running her fingers over the edge of a table she passed. "The place gives me a weird vibe. . ."

"Probably cus of what the place is," he adjusted his chair, scooting closer to the table. "They performed exorcisms here, half of the objects - Hell, probably even some of the chairs - were brought in cursed, contaminated or what have you. This whole place is like a shrine to what you shouldn't touch or do. . .and all of those things are in this bunker."

Ophelia smiled a little, sitting in the chair to his left. "Well that seems like a good idea," she tucked her hands between her knees. "Where. . .Where's Dean?"

"Kitchen," Sam sighed, opening up the laptop in front of him. "He seemed a little peeved considering. . ."

Ophelia felt the urge to chuckle at how uncomfortable Sam looked, but then she remembered why Dean was mad and sighed. "I asked him why he didn't just let me die," Sam tensed, not looking at Ophelia. "I don't have a family to go home to, I-I don't have a reason to stay with the two of you. . .so why not?"

Sam sighed. "Because Dean just isn't gonna let you die," he smirked a little. "He's gonna give you shit about how he owns you and everything, cus he's a demon and he's even more of an asshole than usual, but in truth - for our entire lives - Dean and I have saved people like you from stuff like this and its a little hard to let go."

"Somehow I doubt he's doing it out of kindness," she had the bruises on her hips. "Besides, don't you have more. . .important things to worry about then? People to save?"

"Just _you_ right now," Sam insisted, reaching out and clasping a hand on her knee; his brow was furrowed like Dean's, mean and determined. "We're gonna try to save you, Ophelia, and you're gonna get your life back together. Its still possible. You just have to be positive, or it doesn't work."

Ophelia visibly ground her teeth at Sam, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I was _sold to a demon_ ," she hissed with a shaky voice. "I-I was fucked by a demon a-and I watched him _murder_ people! And then there's-there's whatever _this_ is!"

She stretched out her arm, staring in horror at the way her veins rippled in blue patch's, her palm threatening to glow again. It burned a little, beneath the skin, where she couldn't reach to scratch.

"Its hot and it itches and I just wanna go home," she was crying again, sobbing, curling into her lap with Sam holding her arm. "I-I wanna go home and be normal again! I can't do this! I don't want to fight it, I wanna see my momma again!"

She wanted to have more memories with her mother, go home, be held like a child again because no one that held her now cared about her. She'd only been used, she'd had to strip for men she didn't know, be touched by them, been ogled like a pig at the fair.

She remembered being there the first night, being stripped down, scrubbed and dressed in tight, glitter-covered bikini-esque clothes. Being pushed out onto the stage, surrounded by men that whistled and hollered - and finally she had been grabbed. She'd been grabbed off stage and she'd screamed, kicked and clawed at the man as he groped her tiny breasts and tried to stick a hand up her skirt. Chet had, had the man removed very physically and had decided to keep Ophelia, kept her on stage and untouched.

Dean must have had a way with words, because Chet had been very possessive over his money maker he didn't have to mop up the tears and blood from when a man got too handsy.

The thumb ran up her forearm, pressing on the veins, making them spasm and hurt even more. Ophelia looked up fast, crying out in minor pain, eyes wide on Dean. Sam was in the other room talking to the trench coat that waved its arms around, looking very disgruntled. Dean's face was pure concentration on her arm and then her face when Ophelia screamed, flailing in her chair and trying to pull away but Dean was as easy to move as a brick wall.

Sam and Castiel came running - wasn't a very short run - and started screaming at Dean, but they didn't dare touch him.

Dean blinked slowly, jaw ticking before he let Ophelia's arm go. She fell back when he did so, tumbling to the floor, legs tangled in the chair as she cradled her arm and cried.

"Dean - what the _Hell?!_ " Sam bellowed, anger making his cheeks red.

Castiel crouched beside Ophelia, gently prying her arm from her chest; she didn't stop crying. "You absorbed some of the infection," Castiel murmured, looking over at Dean. "How did you do that?"

Dean shrugged, pushing up from his chair and nudging Castiel aside. "Just did it," he roughly pulled Ophelia up and to her feet. "Fed the Mark. . ." They all looked to the odd, glowing scar on his forearm. "Doesn't burn anymore."

"It was. . ." Sam scrunched up his nose. " _Burning?_ "

Dean nodded softly and turned, rubbing absently at the Mark while Cas murmured something to Ophelia. She was watching Dean's back with a look of betrayal and confusion, only listening to Cas when he snapped his fingers in front of her; Sam expected them to disappear. He huffed and followed behind Dean, finding him in the kitchen like he suspected - still rubbing at the Mark.

"You can't just _do_ stuff like that, Dean," Sam snapped and gained a dangerous glare from his brother. "No, she's been through enough, the least you could do is warn her that you're gonna do something like that!"

"I can do whatever the _fuck_ I wanna do," Dean squared back his shoulders, fingers flexing at his sides. "I bought the little bitch - and she is so God damn ungrateful about it. I mean, here I am tryin to save her ass and she wants to die? Fucking ungrateful!"

"What do you _expect_ , Dean?! The way you've been treating her, everything that's happened - want her to be grateful that she's just a damn kid and she doesn't know what to do with a life stolen from her? Before we even came along she was fucked, now? Now she's glowing and seeing demons and her family. . .maybe she doesn't really wanna die. Maybe this is just her panicking, but you gotta go a little slow with her."

Dean chuckled. "Sick of these pussy-ass shit responses around here," he swung around Sam, boots loud against the floor.

Sam groaned and followed him, but not too closely. "Dean, demon or not I know you care about -"

Dean whirled around, growling like a demon, and his arm slammed into Sam's chest. The air left him as a loud wheeze and Sam's back hit the wall, lips popping as he tried to fight for the air back in his lungs. Dean smirked as he slid down to the floor, crouching beside his brother and staring at him with obviously mock sympathy on his face.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

Sam glared between breaths, hand splayed across his chest. Dean hummed and shot back up to his feet, rocking on his heels for a moment and then proceeding down the hallway as he originally intended. He winked at Ophelia as he passed, grabbing the Impala's keys from the table before he jogged up the stairs, the door echoing behind him.

Ophelia looked over at where Castiel had been, seeing the space now empty and it still sent a chill down her spine. How long had she lived around monsters and angels? How many times had she passed one of either on the street and been lucky it wasn't her day?

She jumped when she heard a grunt, eyes widening as she watched Sam hobbling into the room. "Wh-What happened," she questioned, jumping to her feet but not moving to help him; he was bigger than Dean, he would squish her if he fell.

Sam shook his head and waved a hand at her, sinking slowly into the seat he had occupied earlier. When he was finally settled, he released a deep breath and his entire body went slack, fingers twitching on the table top. He chuckled a little after a moment and Ophelia feared he had lost himself too, considering how shaken he looked, now was not a time for humor.

"He hit me," Sam murmured, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. "I pushed him a little and. . .all he did was hit me."

When the final button popped open, Ophelia cringed, leaning forward a little to stare at the broad mosaic of purple and red that had spread fast over Sam's chest. It looked violent and painful, not something he should really be laughing at.

" _All he did_ ," Ophelia repeated. "Y-You're okay with that," she asked incredulously.

Sam nodded and sat up a little, cringing as he did so. "He could have done a lot worse, throwing a fit like that," he huffed as he prodded the bruise. "How's your arm?"

Ophelia blinked; she hadn't even thought about it. "Oh uh. . ." She held the arm, looking down at it. "It doesn't. . .feel any different, really."

Sam looked over at her, brow furrowed. "Really," she nodded. "It fed him, but didn't do anything to you?"

Ophelia shook her head. "Not that I can tell," she sighed. "I was. . .serious, though," she looked up beneath her bangs. "I don't want to live if my life is left to shambles when this is all over with - if there is even a chance of me being somewhat normal. . ."

"There are plenty of chances," Sam insisted and then paused, examining her with a slowly developing, small, smile on his face. "You were utterly hopeless early, what happened?"

Ophelia let her eyes flicker towards the exit to the bunker. "Just figured I give you a chance. . .since you seem to know what you're doing."

"Uh huh," Sam murmured.

* * *

"Can you concentrate on it at all?"

"No I just. . .it happens, I can't control it."

Castiel furrowed his brow and sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ophelia gave Sam a hopeless look where he sat to her right, looking tired but he was also smiling a bit. It'd been hours since she had last seen Dean, since Castiel had started trying to test whatever was going on with her. The first claim had been she was being scooped out as a pure vessel for an angel, now it was she was being torn apart to feed an entity trapped in some cage and the latest - muttered by Castiel - was that she was an angel herself.

"Cas, if she was an angel, don't you think you would have felt her energy already," Sam shook his head.

"If she were a Nephilim, no," he actually sounded snippish, looking very much haggard. "I do not understand what is happening."

"That still wouldn't explain her dying, the glowing lights - _feeding_ the Mark," Sam scrubbed at his face and then gestured to Ophelia. "You don't have anything similar to this in that head of yours?"

"There is nothing similar because even as she disintegrates. . ." Castiel trailed off, running his fingers up the veins that pulsed after his touch. "As you die. . .you are also being reconstructed."

Ophelia furrowed her brow; her fingers of her free hand curled around the edge of her seat."

"You are dying," Castiel shook his head. "But inside of you, the cells and tissues that are being destroyed are also being continuously renewed. It is as if you are experiencing a rapid stage of evolution, but you do not have the capacity for this type of regeneration. You are only human."

"Maybe she isn't," Sam offered. "Maybe she's something we've never -"

"I am reading nothing on her," Castiel snapped over his shoulder and Sam pursed his lips, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "As far as she reads, Ophelia is a human and nothing more."

"I still think you're wrong," Sam pushed himself to his feet and started walking towards the bookshelves. "I'm gonna start looking again, see if there was anything ever documented on something like this and I know I'll find something."

"You do not believe me," Castiel questioned.

Sam shook his head and half turned, wagging a book at the angel. "No, no because that would make no sense and you know it. You just said yourself, she doesn't have the capacity for what's happening to her, I mean her hands were glowing! Her veins are glowing - she's a ball of energy and you want to call her human? Sorry Cas, I just can't believe that."

Ophelia peered up at Cas from beneath her lashes, looking back down at her arm that he still held gently though the rest of him appeared tense even from beneath that trench coat. She had to admit, it was pretty far fetched for her to be human at this point, but she wanted to deny it like Castiel. It was one thing to be dying of some mysterious reason and even glowing, but her being more than human? That was something to tackle on a later date.

"I'm tired," she murmured, pulling on her arm. "Can I please have my arm back?"

Castiel looked down at her and let Ophelia's arm fo, watching her rub at the spot he had been holding. "I apologize if I hurt you," his brow creased.

She shook her head. "You didn't," she hesitated. "Wh-When do you think Dean will be home?"

"Could be hours still," Sam murmured as he fell into his seat at the head of the table, an arm full of books sliding in front of him. "He's a demon. He doesn't sleep, he can't really get drunk. . .he could be howling at the moon all night."

Ophelia sighed, nodding. "That's. . .That's what I figured," why did it make her stomach hurt? "I think I'm going to go lie down. If there is anything you find. . .wake me up," if she could sleep.

Sam gave her a warm smile, Castiel muttering to himself and walking towards the entrance. She shook her head and turned around, wandering back towards Dean's room. She didn't mind Castiel, but he did scare her a little bit for an angel. He just wasn't as warm and holy as she would have imagined; he seemed quite cold to her, and she had no idea why.

Ophelia clicked on one of the lamps beside Dean's bed, staring longingly at the ruffled sheets; she could smell him everywhere. And why wouldn't she? This was _his_ room, it had _his_ things all over it; his sharp, explosive things, even decorating the walls. The room of a Hunter, what he was before he was a demon - he was even more dangerous of a Hunter now, wasn't he? She didn't want to see him in action, she didn't want to see Dean killing anything else, not out in the open where he had free roaming.

She fell back into his sheets, huffing when one of the pillows fell on her face. Momma. . .she wanted to see her mother one more time, she wanted to know if her mother knew anything about this, what was happening to her. What had happened to her mother? Her father? The one that could have cared less about Ophelia at some times, even the young girl would take him at the moment.

She wanted a piece of her old life before she was gone.

* * *

She didn't wake up when he shut the door, which was rather loudly if he recalled but his head was thumping over the alcohol trying to drown his system.

He'd tried every damn thing he could to drown out the growling in his skull, from the Mark. He was a demon, he didn't care about the blood lust from the Mark, he didn't really have a lot of cares with the whole Mark and demon combo going on but lately. . .

Nothing worked.

Nothing would stop the howling, the annoying quips and bites of things he shouldn't care about.

He swayed back and forth at the end of the bed, staring at her where she was curled up under the pillows. . .and not the blankets. Dean snorted and walked around to the side of the bed, removing all of the pillows from her; she trembled when he did so and reached for the blanket. Dean snickered and snatched the blanket away to, watching her groan and fumble for it in her sleep.

She lifted her head and stared at the end of the bed for a long time, eyes merely slits until Dean made the side of the bed dip. Her eyes widened as she rolled against his side, fingers tightening in his shirt when he gave her no choice but to stay against him.

"D-Dean," she whispered, craning her head up to look at him, though his face was all but an outline to her; he could see every detail. "Is that -"

"Who else would it be," Dean griped, tightening his arm around her. "Feelin a little frisky, how about you sweetheart?"

Ophelia groaned and pressed her face into his side, snoring softly after only a small beat. Dean sighed and loosened his hold on her, but she was still clinging to him. . .possibly drooling.

"Fuck," Dean murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you feel so inclined, you can find me on my Twitter @LikePickelz and watch my slow decent into madness by infrequent posts and random pictures because I have a severe lack of self control and attention span.
> 
> Anywho, you can ask questions over there and I do post story updates there meaning if you don't want to sit there and wait for me to post a chapter, just go over there and I am beginning to give dates blah blah blah.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for being so absent, and that this is so short, but if any of you play Dragon Age . . . you understand. I got lost.

He was so _warm_.

Being held against him, she could still see he was in that squishy human body, freckles and scars dotting his skin. She'd been counting the ones across the dip of his peck for some time, wanting to look over his chest, count more, but there was no way she was getting to them right now.

Probably ever.

She was still scared, but half asleep and him just holding her while he mumbled somewhere in that head of his, she could convince herself she wasn't terrified of meeting the real world.

He was something solid, he was something terrifying, he was something very much real though. She could hold onto him, and he had proven he had a soft side; his mood swings were giving her headaches though. She had to admit though, not aloud of course, that she was happy he had come along, no matter how much he shook her. She would have died alone, she would have gone in a way she didn't understand and would have been ten times more terrified. She didn't know what could have happened, with all different kinds of scenarios in her head.

Dean wasn't something she had expected.

He wasn't asleep, he didn't sleep, but she had already seen that, if relaxed enough, he would enter some sort of state of rest. He mumbled and shifted, like he was asleep, but she knew he wasn't, couldn't be because --

Her eyes opened when his arm tightened around her, rough hands dragging under her shirt and against her ribs. She trembled and closed her eyes again at the soothing feeling that tingled over her skin. His breath wafted through her hair, warm and tinted with alcohol a day old; her nose scrunched at the smell. She groaned softly when he reached up to cup her small breast, squeezing it tightly, but not uncomfortably. His fingers flexed in a soft rhythm, his thumb brushing over her nipple teasingly.

She trembled again, eyes squeezed shut as her legs shook; she wouldn't, she couldn't, because he would get rough and she didn't want to have sex right now.

He hummed softly, moving down and then, as she predicted, he pushed her down into the mattress and was above her. His eyes were black, a soft smirk on his face, and he ducked his head to rub his lips against her throat. She arched into it, unable to deny the way it felt when he did those things. His teeth tugging at her skin, his lips still soft and pouting against her chilled throat. Her fingers clenched to his biceps, a soft whimper escaping her lips when one of his hands roughly gripped her inner thigh. She felt the jolt to her pussy, already feeling how hot she was from something so small.

She was starting to like it.

His fingers inched up while his lips inched downwards towards her chest, easily able to push aside the fabric of her shirt in search for her breast. She bucked against his hand, her head inching back as she pushed against him, something still fighting inside of her.

"D-Dean," she whimpered, shaking her head softly and looking down at him. "Dean please stop!" She hissed in desperation.

He peered up at her with a blank expression, his fingers lazily tucked in and tracing the hem of her pants. She opened her mouth to speak again but his lips planted sweet, fast kisses back up to her lips to silence her pleas and protests. His hand curved down and there was no longer a barrier between his skin and hers, delightful fingers stroking her like she could never do alone. She moaned softly into his mouth as he teased her slowly, her hips squirming against his touch; she was so hot. And he was so hot, stoking the fire, churning and burning.

She gasped and arched into his hand as a lone finger slid into her slick heat, curving up and dancing just out of reach of that tender bundle of nerves. He was teasing her, she knew if he wanted to, he could so easily abuse that spot inside of her until she was screaming and writhing. But he wasn't doing that, wasn't being rudely teasing and wasn't being rough; she was very much confused. But she wasn't apposing the way he touched her, she wouldn't change a thing, wouldn't get her hopes up, because she didn't want this to be a once in a lifetime moment.

She wanted more.

He sighed against her, air ruffling the small hairs around her face, eyes peering down at her despite her squirming. She frowned softly, brow quirking and trembling when he decided to give in to that spot and stroked at it with two fingers. Ophelia whimpered into his skin, one hand clenched the corner of the pillow behind her head, the other on his arm and digging her nails into the skin. She arched against his chest, hips bucking up against the flexing digits buried inside of her.

"You sound so delicious," he murmured against her ear, fingers slowly thrusting in and out of her, depriving her of the friction she needed. "Moan some more for me baby girl."

A chill ran through her, not entirely unwelcome.

Ophelia moaned softly when his thumb stroked up and down her clit, hot, open mouthed kisses pulling against her throat. She was trembling, embarrassingly close to the climax she was craving, from him. He was smothering her, his touch making her so hot and his chest chaffing against hers.

"Dean," she whimpered, one leg cocked against the side of his hip.

He hummed, eyes hooded as he watched her writhe beneath him. Her lips arching in time with her back, that soft O of wet lips he wanted in other places that just up in the air. Her hips rolled up to meet the thrusts of his fingers, reaching for her climax with a vigor.

She felt his hardness against her thigh, moaned for it, his name on her lips in rapid procession. Her walls clenched at his fingers, the heat blooming across her skin, a loud moan tumbling from her lips as she came. He didn't stop, even as she squirmed harder and harder, sensitive and in pure bliss but working towards discomfort.

"Dean," she whispered, looking up at him. "Dean, please, it hurts!"

He chuckled and . . . stopped.

It shouldn't be something that causes shock or pause, but for her, for how he treats her, it does both to little Ophelia. She blinks softly up at him in shock, watching as his tongue thoroughly cleans the hand slick and shiny. He didn't pay attention to her until he was done, licking his lips and grinning menacingly down at her, but he didn't do anything.

Not a damn thing.

Her brow furrowed as he pulled her hard against his side, sighing softly into the half-darkness of the room; her heart hummed. Her fingers stretched over his chest, fingers flexing through the faint tufts of hair on his skin.

"Dean --"

"Hush," he murmured.

She closed her mouth with a snap of her teeth, resting her cheek back against him. He ran his hand down her arm, humming softly beneath his breath.

* * *

" _Spontaneous combustion?_ "

Sam sighed and Ophelia looked over to him, hands clenched in her lap and brow furrowed. "Cas," Sam started. "Could you settle on what she is?"

Castiel sighed this time, looking annoyed and also nervous, or confused. "That _is_ my _settle_ ," snippish. "The tales of spontaneous combustion are true, though rare and even passed as a medical condition. In another life, Ophelia was a priestess."

Ophelia looked up. "A _what?_ "

"Let me rephrase this," Castiel bowed his head, sighing softly. "You _would_ have been a priestess," he clarified. "A religious symbol, your murals would have been painted in scripture and upon walls. Now that the influence of major religious bodies tied so to nature and natural power are no longer needed, or were driven from their homes and claimed as demon for their massive influence and followings, you have no outlet, no blessings to follow through with or anything or the like. You will burn out like a star, there is nothing I or anyone else can do about it."

Sam shook his head, the pain growing in the back made worse by the information he was being fed. "There's literally nothing we can do about this?"

Castiel shook his head. "The power cannot be extracted from her and she does not have the connection to the Earth as previous humans of her kind. Extraction means death, otherwise means death -- there is no solution to this," he looked to Ophelia apologetically. "I am so sorry, Ophelia."

She waved a hand at him, very much aware that her palm had that faint glow. "Its okay," she murmured and rubbed her thumb gently into her palm. "I . . . I think I've come to terms with it," she sighed. "Thank you all for trying."

Sam grumbled. "I don't care, I'm going to --"

Ophelia clasped a firm hand onto Sam's arm, stilling him with the oddly grim look on her face. He relaxed slightly, knuckles white as he gripped the books in his hands. Ophelia hesitated and swallowed, pulling her shaky hand back to her lap.

"Sam," she started, tone even. "Please . . . Please just . . . let it go."

"But --"

" _No_ ," she snapped. "No, Sam, please -- I'm sure you have other things to worry about than one girl who is already doomed to death from every side. I'm sure Castiel knows better about this than any research you can find. I'm doomed, I've come to terms with it."

Sam stared at her for a long time, shaking his head before he pulled away and slammed the books on the table. He stomped away, raking his fingers through his hair roughly; she could hear him curse somewhere down the hallways. Ophelia sighed and looked up at Castiel, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"He's not used to feeling helpless, is he," she questioned, grabbing the books.

Castiel hummed as he followed her towards the bookshelves. "Actually, he is very used to it, that is why he is so keen on fighting it."

Ophelia shook her head, her fingers worrying her wrist. "He should learn when to give up," she murmured.

Castiel sighed. "You cannot blame him for trying," Ophelia sighed again. "I will give you some time alone, unless Dean would come to seize the opportunity. He has been restless all morning."

She cocked her head, brow furrowed. "Yeah he was . . . acting strange earlier today," she rubbed the back of her neck. "Is there any sign of curing him?"

Castiel shrugged. "The harm he has done has not been to the general population, only to demons and those willing to make deals with aforementioned demons. Sam wants him cured, but he cannot force him if we can keep a better eye on him."

Ophelia nodded. "I suppose I can see the logic in that, but he still scares me."

"I would be surprised if he did not."

Ophelia shook her head and rose from her chair. When she opened her mouth to speak, she clicked it shut at the sound of familiar, heavy steps on the staircase, the jingle of keys. Dean trotted carefully into sight, eyes narrowing softly at Castiel before he turned a serious gaze to her; his jaw was grit.

"Wh-What," she shuffled awkwardly, looking up when she heard Castiel hum, but he was already gone.

Dean stares at the spot for a moment and then surged forward, making Ophelia stutter back a step or two, but he still caught her hand. He jerked her forward, giving her little time to protest as usual, as if it would do any good in the first place. She didn't protest, really, didn't even feel queasy which was strange; she felt oddly at ease, maybe she was already too used to being drug around by this demon.

"Where are you --"

"Shut up," he barked, slamming the door to the garage open. "We're going for a ride."


End file.
